


Lean Back Let It Move Right Through You

by Amyliana



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, Canon Trans Character, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Gen, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amyliana/pseuds/Amyliana
Summary: Drabble series featuring Lydia Martin in various scenes in Penny Dreadful, usually if not always in the place of Vanessa Ives. Tags will be updated as I add more ficlets/drabbles/pick a word. Title taken from the song "Hallelujah" by Panic! At The Disco.Spoilers abound for all three seasons of Penny Dreadful. You've been warned.On hiatus.





	1. I Come With Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Lydia has an extra banshee power in this series in addition to everything she has in Teen Wolf: she can also sense killers, she can sense death in general and not just when someone is about to die. Also, Lydia is 28 here - like Vanessa - instead of a teenager like she is in Teen Wolf canon. (Holland Roden is 30 as of Nov. 2016, so you don't have to change how you picture Lydia's face or anything).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia meets Dr. Sweet for the first time.

* * *

_I come with knives_

_I come with knives_

_And agony_

_To love you_

* * *

 

Lydia Martin left her first session with Dr. Seward, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope deep within her. She’d left the mansion today and gone to get help. That was not a small thing. Right? She’d say _God bless Lyle,_ except that she wasn’t sure she had it in her to believe in God anymore.

The whispers grew in volume, enough that she could make out some words of warning.

Lydia flinched, but the death she was sensing wasn’t because someone was about to die. It was… it was the other kind that she sensed. She wasn’t sure that was better.

Suddenly a boy stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Death ribbon, mum?”

He was offering her a black ribbon for Tennyson, but Lydia could barely hear the words he was saying. The boy in front of her resembled Fenton, and she couldn’t stop _staring_ at him. It wasn’t the shape of his face so much as it was the paleness, and those unforgettable eyes.

Lydia didn’t want to think about it. The vampires were gone, right? The ones that took Allison. She _really_ didn’t want to think about it, so she distractedly bought a ribbon from the boy, if only to have an excuse to get away from him without being rude.

But then she heard it. “Beloved,” he called her as she walked away. Lydia froze, fear welling up inside her. _No,_ she silently begged.

Despite herself, she turned around. He was staring at her, a creepy smile on his youthful face. Lydia stared back, green eyes wide, jaw clenched tight. The boy turned his back on her and walked away.

Lydia shivered. If only she were human, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so hunted all the time. Maybe she wouldn’t _be_ hunted. Besides, these incarnations of evil were only interested in her because she was a banshee - or so she assumed.

 

* * *

 

Lydia was just starting to admire the scorpion collection, drawn to it by memories of Joan calling her _“little scorpion,”_ when the voices in her head started a clamor. Lydia held her breath, not wanting to scream inside the museum, but it wasn’t that kind of death.

No, no one was about to die. Instead, someone whose hands must be _drenched_ in blood was here. The feeling of death hammering into her senses was so strong that she could only conclude that the source of the voices’ panic was a supernatural being. According to the voices, whoever the killer was was approaching Lydia.

Heart in her throat, the young banshee slowly turned her head to the side, trying to follow the voices. She didn’t see anyone approaching her, she didn’t even see anyone looking at her, but the voices were practically screaming at her to _run, run, run._

Lydia could feel her heart pounding rapidly. She felt dizzy; she felt sick with fear. Slowly, in case the murderer was watching where she couldn’t see, she turned from the scorpions, intending to go home.

A man’s voice stopped her, spoken out loud and coming from behind her. Lydia inhaled sharply and jumped about a foot in the air. She whirled to look at the man. He hadn’t noticed. Whoever he was, he was focused on the arachnids. He was clearly talking to her, even as he babbled away.

Then he turned towards her, expecting an answer. Lydia hadn’t heard him over the rushing in her ears and the panicked voices still yelling at her to _get away._

“Sorry?” She murmured.

“Oh, I was just saying that the most dangerous ones are the smallest, Miss…”

She took the hint, trying to suppress her terrified trembling. “Martin. Miss Lydia Martin.”

He graced her with a smile, and proceeded to ramble about arachnids again. Lydia did her best to ignore the cacophony inside her head and focus on his words. It was all very interesting, actually.

“You’d think this one would be the most dangerous, with his _enormous_ claws.”

“Why do you think I’m interested in the dangerous ones?” Lydia asked with genuine curiosity, and a modicum of apprehension.

“Everyone is,” the man said as if it were obvious. “They imagine them crawling over their bodies as they sleep.”

Honestly, that didn’t sound so bad to Lydia. She liked scorpions, spiders, and the lot. Of course, she pretended to be just as repulsed as most everyone else. She'd learned that in the asylum -  _lie about who and what you are, or you will suffer._

“That’s what draws most people in,” he continued, momentarily tilting his head, “the fear. You don’t see them lining up to look at the sheep. More’s the pity – _glorious_ animals,” he made eye contact for a moment, as if he could convince her by sincerity alone that sheep were so impressive.

“They love the tooth and claw. The predators. Would you like to touch one?” He asked congenially, looking at her with a hint of interested excitement. He seemed ready to reach back in the case to pull out another of the scorpions.

“A predator?” She asked, a hint of her old teasing in her tone.

The man corrected her, ever earnest, “A scorpion.”

Lydia smiled for the first time in months, feeling proud of her secrets for the first time in her _life_. It was a small, shy thing, but it was still a real smile. “I have.”

He was surprised. “You’ve touched a scorpion?” He asked, sounding impressed.

Lydia’s smile grew. She answered honestly but casually, “Yes.”

She would have felt relaxed if it weren’t for her banshee powers going haywire. The dead didn’t seem to want her here – they seemed to hate the man who was being kind to her, actually. That didn’t make sense.

Lydia’s smile faltered as she realized that what her powers were telling her _didn’t make sense._ She’d been able to understand them since the cut-wife. No, wait, she was able to understand even before Joan Clayton. She’d been an adolescent the last time she couldn’t comprehend her own powers.

The man noticed – she could tell by the way he was watching her and the way his own smile faded a fraction – but he didn’t draw attention to it. Instead, he tried to bring her back into conversation, or just distract her from her troubles. Lydia wasn’t quite sure, but she was grateful all the same.

Once he had her attention again, he continued as if there hadn’t been a disheartening lapse. “Don’t tell me you’re a zoologist.”

Lydia’s smile was back, this time with teeth. Fuck the voices of the dead. The man was perfectly charming and friendly. There was no need for her to fear him.

“No,” she huffed a laugh, “But you are.”

He gave a wry close-lipped grin, eyes closing briefly. She’d caught him out. She wondered if he was embarrassed about his rambling. If he was, he didn’t need to be. She enjoyed it.

“Doctor Alexander Sweet, hello.” The man – Dr. Sweet – introduced himself. “I’m the boss here, more or less. Director of Zoological Studies.” He turned to gaze upon his domain. “Noah in his ark.”

Lydia watched Dr. Sweet, charmed. She hadn’t stopped smiling, which was a bloody miracle, in her own opinion.

“But,” she couldn’t help but point out, “Noah’s animals were living.”

“Oh, I think of these ones as alive. Just quiet.” He smiled at her, soft and sincere. Lydia returned it.

“Taxidermy!” He exclaimed out of nowhere, dark eyes lighting up.

Lydia’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Sorry?” She echoed herself from earlier.

“Your hobby. That’s where you’ve touched a scorpion!” Lord help him, but he looked so excited, like he’d sussed out a compelling secret.

“No,” Lydia told him, and it wasn’t a lie. She’d touched _many_ scorpions, but all of them had been alive. She wasn’t going to share those details, though. In order to distract Dr. Sweet from trying to figure out where she’d really touched a scorpion before, she gave him a fraction of the truth.

“But I did practice it as a child,” Lydia glanced away, feeling sheepish.

When she looked back at the friendly doctor, she found him looking at her like he’d just found a kindred spirit. “So did I. That’s where I fell in love with all this.”

And there he went, babbling away again. Lydia didn’t mind, nor did she tune him out. She listened to every word, fascinated by the topic and the knowledge he so openly shared. He was practically radiating his deep, abiding love for his field. She could almost feel it on her skin.

“If only we would stop and look, and wonder.” Lydia wasn’t sure if he noticed exactly how profound that was.

“Do you have a favorite?” She quietly asked.

“Not meant to, but mostly the unloved ones. The unvisited ones.” He admitted. “The cases that get dusty and ignored. All the broken and shunned creatures.”

Despite herself, Lydia was enthralled, enchanted.

“Someone’s got to care for them,” he said, quiet and still earnest, but no longer filled with bouncing energy. “Who shall it be if not us?”

He looked at her again. Lydia held his gaze. Strangely, she did not feel the need to break the stare and run, no matter how much the dead were wailing at her inside her mind.

“I agree,” Lydia whispered.

She could not quite decipher the way he was looking at her now. It was different from before, but she didn’t understand the emotion behind his gaze, nor could she guess at what he was thinking.

Then the moment was broken. One of the doctor’s colleagues had come up to call him away, saying he was needed. She watched him go, torn between confusion and intrigue. She didn't even mind that he'd forgotten her name.

As he walked away from her, the voices in her head quieted down. Lydia scowled, vexed at the absolute lack of sense her powers made. She’d been able to understand the nuances of being a banshee for years now – she’d even figured out Dorian Gray, though she hoped the man that simultaneously repelled and touched death never found out. So why did her banshee powers suddenly not make sense?

With an almost silent huff of annoyance, Lydia batted away loose strands of strawberry blonde hair from her eyes. She looked once more at the scorpion collection, then turned on her heel and left. It wasn’t that difficult to refrain from looking in the direction Dr. Sweet had left, not with the relief of the dead ringing their blessed quiet in her head.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make authors happy, and I am not an exception. Pleeease?
> 
> Edited on 2/2/2017, changed it so that the Murrays are now the Argents (Allison in place of Mina, Chris Argent in place of Sir Malcolm). Every time I mentally go back to this fic, all I can picture is Lydia and Allison's intense friendship. They were practically soulmates in Teen Wolf. Everything else is the same, no other characters have been or will be changed.


	2. Arsonist's Lullabye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelique dies, and the banshee knows.

* * *

 

_When I was a child, I heard voices_

_Some would sing and some would scream_

_You soon find you have few choices_

_I learned the voices died with me_

 

* * *

 

Lydia was looking for comfort after a particularly rough day, dealing with Lucifer’s witches and every horror and torment they relentlessly inflicted upon her psyche. She just wanted a friend, _anyone_ to chase her fears away, even if it were only for a few hours.

So she sought out Dorian Gray. She knew something was wrong with him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It had to do with the death that Lydia was so familiar with, but it was strange... It was almost as if he _repelled_ death, but that was ridiculous. It would take her a long time to puzzle him out, it would seem.

Suddenly, she could feel that internal tug that used to put her in fugue states when she was younger.

Someone was about to die.

Lydia focused and honed in, following that tug inside her soul. She’d already been somewhat near Dorian’s home, having been headed there anyway in a desperate bid for the comfort of a friend. With no small amount of surprise, she realized that the insistent tug was bringing her to her ex-lover’s home. Lydia planted her feet in front of his door, using sheer force of will to resist the pull trying to bring her inside to the scene of the soon-to-be death.

And then it was there, welling up inside her. Lydia was still in shock, so taken aback by her location that she was not prepared to hold back the clawing feeling in her throat until she could find privacy – and she _screamed_.

She screamed for Angelique.

If she could have distanced herself from, well, herself, she would have thought that it was justice – though posthumous – that the name in her ears and on her tongue was Angelique, and not the male name the newly-murdered woman had been given at birth. But Lydia could not distance herself from this. She’d tried in the past, and there had been horrific consequences.

The instant her scream ended, she ran away from Dorian’s door. But Lydia was smart, _brilliant,_ so she ran along the side of the building until she could dive around a corner, out of sight. Hopefully he never saw her. And it _had_ been Dorian, hadn’t it, that killed Angelique? There was no doubt. Lydia knew.

The man she had thought of as a friend was a cold-blooded killer, worse than herself, worse than Sir Christoper. Angelique had been innocent, _human._ Lydia let out a strangled sob, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Then she kept running, heading straight home. There would be no comfort for her tonight.

 

* * *

 

As Angelique collapsed bonelessly to the floor, choking on her last breath, Dorian paused. Funny, but he could swear that he had heard a woman scream, the timing coinciding perfectly with the murder he just committed. Even more interesting: he could _swear_ that it was Lydia Martin who screamed, and she had sounded as if she were close.

Intrigued, Dorian moved to investigate. He’d thought Lydia was right outside his front door – screaming loud enough to wake the dead – so that’s where he headed. But when he opened the front door, no one was there. And when he moved out on the street and looked all around for the screamer, for _Lydia_ , no one was there.

Did he just _imagine_ he heard Lydia screaming when Angelique died? Because he was utterly convinced it had been the fascinating Miss Martin he’d heard, even if only in his own inexplicable auditory hallucination.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited on 2/2/2017, changed it so that the Murrays are now the Argents (Allison in place of Mina, Chris Argent in place of Sir Malcolm). Every time I mentally go back to this fic, all I can picture is Lydia and Allison's intense friendship. They were practically soulmates in Teen Wolf. Everything else is the same, no other characters have been or will be changed.


End file.
